The Boy is spending more and more time playing outside at daycare. He loves it, and it seems to be having the desired effect on his behavior. I haven't had to sign an incident report for biting or pinching in almost two weeks -- KNOCK ON WOOD. (To quote from The Office: "I'm not superstitious. I'm just a little stitious.") He gets excited every morning when we go to the car and stopped crying and fussing when I leave. He's always got a big smile for me when I pick him up in the evenings, but he's so obviously had a happy day, usually sitting playing with some toy or another with pink cheeks and grubby hands and knees. His smiles make me love his school.
But man, by the time we get home, The Boy is pooped. I mean just worn out. Every night this week, he's either fallen asleep on the way home or shortly after arriving. I tried to keep him awake last week because early evening naps really just make him crankier than when he went down, but I gave up this week and have just been letting him sleep til supper. Last night, he slept from 5:45 to 6:30, ate dinner, and then was in bed and passed out by 7:05.
This weird new schedule is screwing with us a little -- The Boy is waking up earlier, not always in a pleasant mood -- but it's also kind of nice. I mean, obviously, his going to bed earlier means the husband and I have more time to ourselves in the evening, which is a blessing. Also though, The Boy is so cuddly right now. Every morning after breakfast he comes over to me in my reading chair, usually trying to make it through my coffee and a page or two of some book, and pats my lap, wanting to be read to. He snuggles next to me in the chair and grins through Ferdinand or Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You? He demands hugs at night from the husband and me, takes them, really, half tackling us so he can squeeze our necks with his little arms. Last night, when I didn't have to cook dinner, The Boy fell asleep with his head in my lap and whimpered and fussed when I tried to leave him. I happily remained pinned to the couch.
Yes, yes, maybe I'm spoiling him a little, but it's not like I let him trap me in my seat on a daily basis. I just keep thinking, someday he's not going to want to hug me. Oh, he'll still love me; I'm his mother. But he'll be a teenaged twit who won't want to be babied. Even sooner than that, he'll be a little boy, rambunctious and bouncing around too much to slow down for regular cuddles. So, you know, I take 'em where I can get 'em.